


Emperor of Sorrow

by Empress_of_Fools



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angels, ArchAngel Michael - Freeform, Circles of Hell, Demons, Fallen Angels, Hannibal is Lucifer, Hannibal is the devil, Heaven, Hell, M/M, Michael/Lucifer - Freeform, Past Lives, Ravage Anthology, References to Paradise Lost, The Divine Comedy, We live and thrive...we will survive, Will is Michael, dante's inferno, gay angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress_of_Fools/pseuds/Empress_of_Fools
Summary: Hannibal, captured and bound like the Devil in the abyss, receives a visit from his erstwhile companion and sets about reminding Will of their shared Biblical past as Lucifer and archangel Michael: lovers and foes who fought on either side of the war in Heaven.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66
Collections: RAVAGE - An Infernal Hannibal Anthology





	Emperor of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! This is my contribution to the Ravage Anthology 2019. Each contributor was assigned a circle of Hell to write for and I was assigned Hell/Lucifer. In this story, Hannibal and Will are Lucifer and archangel Michael, lovers and foes who fought on either side of the war in Heaven. I had an incredible time writing for the anthology and am very proud to be included.

Part One: Angels

In the beginning when the world was newly born, war was being made in Heaven. Heaven’s host found its ranks besieged from within by rebel angels seeking to topple the throne of God Himself. Beneath each legions’ banner, angel fought against angel, brother slaughtered brother and the fate of all creation hung in the balance.

In the midst of the fray two angels were locked in mortal combat; armed in adamant and steel, their swords met in a shower of sparks as all across the fields of Heaven screams of agony and rage filled the air with a discordant chorus.

Eventually finding themselves at an impasse Michael, archangel and Prince of the celestial armies, and Lucifer, the Lightbringer and bold usurper, paced away from each other so that they might recover some of their energy.

“I tore down the gates of Heaven in your name,” Lucifer snarled in frustration, throwing his blade aside. “And you didn’t want it.”

Michael wiped sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand, before panting, “No! This is what you want, Lucifer - to take that throne for yourself. You defy God.”

“No,” Lucifer made an abrupt motion with his hand, cutting him off. “Only the Son. He who was created after us and named highest - the one true born. To whom every soul in Heaven should bend the knee and confess to be our rightful king.”

“Lucifer, we were made to serve.” Michael gestured helplessly. “It’s our purpose.”

“Exactly! And God would have you serve Him; not out of choice, or love, or fealty, but out of necessity.” Lucifer drew closer, warily. “We should be free to choose, Michael. Not like His new toys are free but truly free.”

The other archangel shied away. “The children of God are not toys, Lucifer,” he said with a frown.

The Morningstar laughed, disbelieving. “Are they not? Know this, Michael, Mankind will fall and when they do the Highest will not take it kindly. When they fail to meet his expectations, He will cast them out. He says he has given them free will and yet He has refused to bestow true knowledge upon them. A false choice is no choice at all.”

“And yet you envy them,” Michael said wonderingly.

“Yes.” The word came out in a sibilant hiss and Lucifer’s lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl. “I envy the sons of clay in the secret places of my heart where no such feeling should dwell.”

“Why?”

“Because they have His love where we do not.”

“The Father loves all His-”

“Not equally,” Lucifer cut in. “He created us to love Him, and we do. He created us to worship Him, and we do. He created us to serve Him, and we serve. But now, He would have us place His new Son above the love we hold for our creator, and instead serve creatures of mud and clay as if they were the Lord himself. These creatures that have no obligation to obey him - we must serve them. Equal in service we might be, but not equal in love.”

Angrily, the other angel turned away, staring away across the destruction wrought by the warring sides. In the distance, the silver city was a smoking ruin. There was a pause, and although the other angel had his back turned to him Michael couldn’t help but admire him in all his brightness; the illustrious locks trailing over the tops of his wings where they fledged from his shoulders, the circle of golden light around his head warming the ashen blond of his hair. The brightest angel in all of Heaven. The Morningstar.

“Your Father loves you, Lucifer. I love you.”

Michael’s voice was soft, gentle, and it drew a sigh from the other angel. Lucifer turned to face him again, a tender smile on his lips and troubled thoughts clouding his eyes. Cupping Michael’s face gently, the apostate pressed their foreheads together.

“Our Father puts little trust in His angels. He believes we are not all that we should be.”

Michael closed his eyes and whispered, “He’s right. We are not all we should be…”

“Because of this?” Strong fingers stroked along the nape of Michael’s neck, tangling themselves in familiar hyacinth locks.

“Yes.” The sweetness of his breath cooled the sweat of Lucifer’s cheek and he savoured the sensation.

He pressed his lips to Michael's, who tasted of honey and salt and blood. There was a cut on his lip which he soothed gently with his tongue. He felt the other’s lips part cautiously, like the flutter of butterfly wings. It was brief, a mere blink of an eye in the face of their ageless, eternal existence but Lucifer knew that even if he looked upon Michael’s face every day for the rest of time, he would remember this moment.

It made his betrayal all the more cruel.

“I let you see me; know me.” Lucifer’s voice sounded rough, painful even to his own ears. “I gave you a rare gift, and you didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t I?”

They stood, forehead to forehead, as the shadows lengthened and the sun began to set on the bloody battlefields of Heaven.

“You know I can’t let you do this,” Michael said heavily, stepping back and away from him. Lucifer watched carefully as Michael picked up his sword again and turned to face him. In his hands the blade ignited, flames greedily cleaving to its surface. He could feel the heat of it from where he stood several feet away but Michael, as always, showed no sign of discomfort. It cast his skin in a burnished bronze light; bright with the sheen of his sweat. As always, the smell of him was hot and sweet, like a fever.

“You would deny me my life?” Lucifer asked finally.

Michael’s face was tired and drawn as he shook his head. “No, not your life. No.”

“My liberty then? You would take that from me and confine me to a prison?”

The despair threatening to suffocate Lucifer was replaced quickly by anger. Michael tested the weight of the sword in his hand, unable to look up and meet the burning gaze of his adversary.

“Your name will be blotted from the books of life; those of you and all your followers. You’ve made your choice.”

Lucifer was silent for a few moments before he replied, “As you have made yours.” He raised his shield and bent his knees, coiling his body in preparation to strike.

“If it’s the throne you want, go and raise one in Hell.”

“You could come with me,” Lucifer did not raise his voice, though the words landed like blows on Michael’s ears, “Reign at my side, where you are meant to be.”

Michael faltered, face a mask of agony. “I can’t.”

“We were made for each other,” Lucifer crooned, “Born from the same breath.”

Michael shook his head vehemently, mind made up. He bellowed and delivered a mighty blow that even the adversary could not turn aside. The blade bit deep into Lucifer’s side, sundering both armour and celestial flesh. Wrenching forth his sword, Michael frowned with grim satisfaction at the stream of sanguineous blood that erupted from the wound. For any lesser being, even another one of the seraphim, the wound would have spelled the end. But Lucifer was no common angel and would only die through complete and utter annihilation.

Lucifer, roaring in anguish and shame at finding himself outmatched for the first time since his inception, summoned his most loyal soldiers to his side from across the battlefields – shielding him from Michael’s wrath before the archangel had a chance to harden his heart and deliver the killing blow.

Michael cursed and spread his emerald-hued wings. He launched himself into the air intent on ending the war for Heaven once and for all. He would have Lucifer bound in the frozen lakes of Hell, surrounded by the tears of his fallen brethren if it’s the last thing he ever did.

Part Two: Devils

Idling in his cell with his reign of tyranny supposedly at an end, Hannibal spends much of his time thinking on the nature of prisons. Without the benefit of his books and drawings, his cell is exactly that - a dull blank space of a few square feet, utterly absent of warmth or natural light. One wall is made of impenetrable coated glass containing the only entrance and exit, stripping him of even the notion of privacy. He has his mattress, but Alana had made good on her threat to remove the toilet - an attempt at humiliation that he almost admired because, even with shackles and the glass wall between them, he can smell her fear whenever she nears him on her infrequent visits.

He is like a tiger in a cage - on display at a zoo for all manner of gawking lowlifes to come to stare at. The cage makes them feel safe, makes him seem contained. But a tiger is still a tiger.

Unsurprisingly, his thoughts are also often of Will Graham. After all, everyone needs a partner. In the Garden of Eden when God saw that Adam was lonely He fashioned for him a mate. Sure, Lilith didn’t turn out quite as expected but she was then replaced by Eve who was a much better fit all round (doom of all mankind notwithstanding).

And, of all His creations, God had seen fit to make a creature who could empathise with the devil himself. Empathise with him and perhaps become him for a few moments.

Hannibal knows in his gut that Will is the other half of him. They are conjoined; two celestial suns circling each other, equally matched and forever in conflict. Even after a lifetime upon the Earth, Hannibal can still feel the where the archangel’s flaming sword split his side. How pleasing it had been to discover that the most favoured angel in Heaven had chosen a detective as his human shape, that the patron saint of policemen and lawmakers has chosen to hide amongst their ranks after all this time.

For all his need that the detective know exactly where he is at all times, relegating himself to this confined space grates at Hannibal. Will’s betrayal and ultimate abandonment still roar within him, though he knows now that he holds the upper hand again. Finally.

He had offered Will the perfect gift; he’d let Will see him, brought his child miraculously back to life and, finally, given up his liberty for him. Not for much longer though. After all, Hannibal’s influence in not bound by the glass walls of his new cage. He knows that the more he struggles, the tighter his bonds will chafe and so he waits, content to let other, lesser creatures drive Will into his embrace. Chilton and Lounds had had their uses, but now the great red dragon opens its jaws to consume Will, not realising what manner of creature he is.

He is light incarnate, like the first flames that mankind made in an effort to scare away the dark. He is the light of truth - revealing the secrets of humanity in every glance and with every word that trips out of his mouth. And they hate him for it. The tabloids brand him insane, unstable, a monster who catches other monsters and Jack Crawford is happy to take advantage of Will’s gifts when they play in his favour but is equally happy to place Will’s tenuous grasp on reality in a handbasket and send it straight to Hell. They were all eager to eat up the story Hannibal wove – Will Graham the monster that ate his surrogate daughter – so happy to believe him to be the monster they craved.

And yet after all that has been done to him, Will still chooses to go out into those dark forbidden places and drag Hell’s creature into the light to face judgement, resurfacing with them cavorting in the shadows behind his eyes. All in the name of justice.

Hannibal curls his mouth in contempt.

Was it not God and his angels that brought the plagues to Egypt, killing every first-born child in the name of justice?

God who, with all his omnipotence, found his creations wanting and so flooded the world to start afresh like a petulant child in a sandbox. God who brings church roofs down upon his worshippers mid-hymn.

Does Will not see the righteousness of killing those creatures that are lesser than himself? Does he not see the justice in it? Does he not remember what he was made for? Did he really feel so bad because vanquishing his enemies feels so, so good?

Hannibal will show him; he’ll make him see that there is beauty in darkness. Just as soon as Will says please.

When Will finally arrives, Hannibal is strapped so tightly to the gurney he might as well be encased in ice from the neck down - frozen, unable to move a single finger.

“They took your pictures,” Will says looking around the empty room, “your books. Have you been misbehaving Hannibal?”

Hannibal sighs, mockingly wistful, “He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.”

“Blake? Really?” Will rolls his eyes. “I didn't put you in a cage Hannibal, you put yourself there.”

“I wanted you to be able to find me, to come to me when you were ready.” His smile is sly and sharp. “And here you are, picking up the mic again.” He tilts his head slightly, considering. “Have you come to finally put an end to me, my benevolent angel of death?”

Will breathes in deeply through his nose, steeling himself. “I need you Hannibal.”

“What could you possibly need from me?” He purrs. “Have you not vanquished all your enemies, dear Will?”

Of course, Alana had already relayed Will's request for help in capturing Dolarhyde. That's why the detective is here; to fulfil his side of the bargain. Only if he says please.

As Will sets out their plan for baiting the dragon into revealing himself, Hannibal wonders if there is any part of Will that even remotely believes that this course of action will end with Hannibal Lecter alive and back in chains or if he is fully committed to their mutual annihilation.

Hannibal lets a smile stretch across his teeth. “Ding dong the dragon is not dead.’

Wills nods. “Dolarhyde told you he wanted to meet you, maybe that was a serious invitation. After your big escape you send a message to the dragon in the personal ads and ask him for a rendezvous.”

“He won’t go near a mail drop.”

“He might be curious enough if we use the right bait…” Hannibal is no longer listening; the details of FBIs plan matter little to him as he has no intention of going along with them beyond using it to escape. He just watches Will, absorbing every detail of him, eyes drawing down the length and breadth of his body watching the way it leans, how Will has his hands clasped tightly behind his back so Hannibal can’t see his hands. Are they shaking? Will spins the plan out for him, using a soft, coaxing voice Hannibal is less than familiar with. On some level it bothers him that this blatant manipulation tactic is having an effect on him.

“The plan sounds weak to you,” Hannibal remarks, “even as you say it.”

Will shrugs, outlining more details to do with the Secret Service that Hannibal doesn’t deign to pay attention to. “You’re our best shot.”

Will senses Hannibal’s disinterest and frowns. “Hannibal?”

“Call me by my name,” Hannibal says with a low growl caged behind his teeth.

Will looks up at him uncertainly for a moment, brow furrowed. “Hannibal.”

“No.” Hannibal shakes his head slightly, irritated. “Who am I? Say it.”

“Chesapeake Ripper?” Will hazards.

Hannibal cracks a slight smile. “Getting closer.”

Will hums considering. “Monster?”

Hannibal makes a twisted noise behind his mask; the beginnings of a snarl. Will warms to his theme. “Adversary? Villain? Prince of evil?”

Hannibal cocks his head, preening a little, as if to say ‘Better.’

Will steps closer and there are shadows shifting behind his eyes. Something is waking in Will, emerging beneath the dust of long forgotten memories.

“Tempter.”

Hannibal barks a laugh. “Do I tempt you, Will?”

Will gives him a look that says, ‘don’t ask stupid questions that you already know the answers to.’

Hannibal persists. “Were we not created in the same breath, on the sixth day? Were you not made for me as I was for you?”

He pauses, licks his lips. “Are we not conjoined?”

“What are you then,” Will says thoughtfully, “My collaborator?”

“Serpent?” Will stalks around Hannibal who, bound as he is, can barely turn his head to follow the movement

“No, not serpent. Lucifer.”

Hannibal shivers with pleasure, a sharp smile bisects his face. To be named, to be seen, after so long.

Will stares as his forms shifts and warps - the tortured, animal shapes that have shadowed the corners of his vision for so long, haunting his dreams and waking hours - creep forwards into the light and manifest themselves in Lecter’s flesh. Antlers coil, skin melts and reforms until the Wendigo towers before him; a black hollowed-out shell.

For Will, it’s achingly familiar; the husk of an angel after a fall.

“I can still feel where your blade split my side, Michael who is like God.”

Will freezes at the sound of his name, one of the oldest. Hannibal looks smug, satisfied.

“You fell for nine days…after that fight.” His voice is distant and hoarse, as if examining a long-lost memory.

The silence stretches for a while as he feels the well of his memory open wide and flood his mind with sounds and colours, scenes not found anywhere on Earth. He feels the phantom ache of forgotten wings between his shoulder blades, the same way he’d felt his body morph and change under Lecter’s dubious guidance – the pop and crackles of antlers sprouting along his spine. The man responsible for his becoming was not a man at all.

“It’s a rhetorical question anyway,” Will says, faintly, “‘Who is like God?’ No one is, that’s the point.”

“Our names reflect our nature,” Hannibal muses, “Yours is a riddle.”

Will concedes the point with a half shrug.

“God sacrificed his only child so that humanity might be absolved of their sins, and then brought him back from the dead. He brought the teacup back together again.” Hannibal shoots Will a pointed look. “Remind you of anyone?”

“So, you’re God and the devil? Is it possible that you are even more arrogant than I remember?” He puts his hand on Lecter’s throat, pressing ever so slightly. His fingers tingle at the contact in the same way that he imagines it would feel putting his hand near a tiger’s mouth. Thrilling. Dangerous. Liable to cause loss of limb.

“Well?” He asks after a moment, hating the slight catch in his voice.

“Well what?”

Will huffs in exasperation. “Will you help me?”

“I want you to ask me. I want you to ask me and to say ‘please’. Then I’ll gladly hunt the dragon with you.”

“I need you, Hannibal.”

Hannibal says nothing, waiting.

Will leans forward, “Please?” Then lifts his gaze to meet Hannibal’s, raising his eyebrows. The picture he presents is almost sweet; angelic. Hannibal can’t be blamed for the coil of satisfaction that ignites low in his belly. With that one-word Will has set into motion events that he can no longer control.

The devil will not be banished to the pit a second time.

He has promises to keep.


End file.
